Page 33 of The Way We Touch
“Garrett said I’d get my head straight here, and I’m starting to think he’s right.”
“Why was your head crooked?” Her eyes crinkle at the corners, no judgment, only curiosity.
“I don’t know.” I exhale a chuckle at her phrasing. “Maybe it was just burnout. I still love the game, the strategy, the teamwork. Of course, I love winning.”
“Of course.”
“It’s all the other things around it weighing me down. The fake friends, the flashing lights, the online gamblers. God, they’re the worst, but even the women…”
“Are you thinking of switching teams? Craig will be thrilled.”
“What?” My eyes snap to hers, and I grin. This girl. “No, I just meant the women I dated. It always feels like they’re using me to get to the next level, to elevate their brand or get more followers. It’s all a numbers game now, and it’s sucking out the joy.”
“That makes sense.” Her voice is quiet, a little sad, and I straighten.
“I’m sorry. You were out here peacefully watching porn, and here I am dumping all my shit on you.”
“I wasn’t watching porn!” Her laugh is a little louder, and her cheeks blush.
The ends of her ponytail bounce around her shoulders, and her full lips part over straight white teeth. Her feet are bare, and fuck me with those red toenails.
“Then why did you act so guilty when I caught you?”
She exhales a little argh noise, opening her laptop again. “I was watching my old dance videos.”
“You danced?” I push off the counter, rounding the bar to where she’s sitting.
“For thirteen years. Now the assistant principal at the high school wants me to teach it as a PE course, and I was just…” She bites her lip, hesitating.
“Pregaming? Watching your old moves?”
“More like trying to remember something I worked so hard to forget. It’s scary.”
Up to now, I’ve only seen her smiling and playful. We’ve skimmed around heavier topics, but seeing a real note of sadness in her expression, hearing her voice change, a different emotion twists in the center of my chest.
It’s something I’ve never experienced before, and similar to how I felt when Jack’s little girl buried her face in my neck, but stronger, more persistent.
I want to gather her into my arms and press my lips to her head. I want her to tell me what’s making her sad, what’s stealing that pretty light from her eyes. I want her to lay it on me so I can fix it, so I can tell her I’ll take it away and keep her safe. What the hell?
Swallowing this rush of feelings, I lightly place my hand on her shoulder instead. “Why would you want to forget it?”
She wrinkles her nose as if she’ll try to smile. “I guess sitting here, alone in the dark, the memories hit me harder than I expected.”
“Good thing I showed up.” My thumb moves back and forth across the top of her arm. “Let’s see.”
Her slim fingers hesitate over the touchpad, almost like she’s afraid to start it. After a moment, she swipes and the dark screen blinks to life. The video is of a practice room with a couple standing in the center, perfectly positioned, chins lifted. The girl is in a pink leotard with black tights and pink pointe shoes. The guy is in navy joggers and a gray tank.
It only takes a second to recognize a much younger Dylan and Craig. She taps the play icon, and they begin to move. Dreamy piano music surrounds us, and he backs away from her holding his hand out as if drawing her to him. She backs quickly en pointe until they both stop at the exact same time.
Then they spring into action. He steps forward, lifting her off her feet, and her legs straighten into a perfect split. He moves her through the smoothest arc over his head, and when he lowers her, their arms extend and entwine. His fingers lift beneath her elbows, and her arms stretch into a line, one hand resting on his bicep as her leg lifts behind them.
“Holy shit.” I watch them fold and unfurl, crossing the stage quickly then stopping for another lift in perfect, flowing rhythm. “This is really good. It’s like you’re reading each other’s minds.”
“Craig was an amazing partner.” Her voice is quiet. “He had a playful style of dancing, but he never missed a beat. He was slim, but so strong. I knew he would never drop me, and it gave us the confidence to be daring.”
“I can see his muscles.” We’re both almost whispering, as if we’re watching something sacred, and the way he holds her, the way he gazes in her eyes, burns in my chest. “It’s making me jealous.”
“Of his muscles?” Her eyebrow arches, teasing.